Endless War
by W. Shepard
Summary: The leader of the raiders sturggles to kill an Ex-Enclave Officer that has seperated from the evil government he used to serve. This is the highest paid contract ever created, partially because the Officer can control creatures of deadly power. Read on to find out who will win this dangerous battle of life and death.
1. Chapter One

**Endless War, Chapter One-**

**The Introduction**

Wyatt looked towards the sky, as if the destroyed atmosphere would answer him. He had been waiting in this valley, ready to make the slave deal, for almost three hours. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and sat on a nearby rock in the shade. His blonde hair stuck to his head with sweat, he hated waiting.

"Maybe they aren't coming, you can't trust raiders after all." Commented a fellow slaver, who was leaning against the cliff wall.

He brushed the slavers' comment off; he was determined to make this deal. At least fifty children and sixty adults. If he could score this deal with the client then he would be able to buy Galaxy News Radio if he wanted it.

"Well hello down there!" was yelled from high above their heads. Several men, numbering around fifteen, stood above them on the cliff side. They began to file down the path of the valley until they all stood at the bottom, opposite of Wyatt's men.

"I assume you are Bloody Steve?" Wyatt asked when a large fellow stepped from the crowd to meet him. The man was larger than most wastelanders, and wore a sheriff's duster. His brown eyes were light and happy, something not seen around the wastes very often.

Wyatt pushed himself off the rock and approached him. A savage wind blew, throwing dust into the two men's eyes, blinding them. They met halfway between the two groups.

"How much for the whole lot?" Steve asked when they reached the middle of the valley. Wyatt stood for a moment and reached into the pocket of his black trench coat, retrieved a silver Nuka-Cola flask, and brought it to his lips. Steve watched as the other man took a drink and stood for a moment, gazing off into the direction of Megaton, and then replaced it back into his pocket.

"Five hundred caps for each child, three hundred for each adult." Wyatt said, turning his head to look back at Steve. Some of the raiders exchanged looks at each other; Steve scratched his chin with his thumb and index finger, humming, as if he was thinking.

Wyatt watched him with clever, blue eyes. The man wasn't taking this seriously; Wyatt had to show him that the deal wasn't going to last forever.

"The offer ends in seven days; you know where to send the letter of payment." Wyatt said, nodding to the other slavers.

They turned and started to follow him out of the valley.

"I wouldn't go that way, if I were you." Steve casually commented, he pulled a cigarette from his duster pocket and brought it to rest between his lips. He then clicked a lighter open and lit it using the orange flame.

Wyatt stopped and turned his head to look at him. Steve calmly took a couple of puffs on the cigarette, blowing smoke from his mouth like a dragon.

The ground beneath their feet suddenly began to shake violently, and many of the slavers and raiders swayed back and forth as they struggled to keep their balance. Wyatt and Steve stayed balanced, and didn't move at all. Then all that could be heard was a deafening explosion, and a force of wind knocked them all to the ground.

Black. All Wyatt could see was black; his eyes were squeezed shut because light hurt them when he tried to look around. He rolled onto his stomach and began to push himself off the ground. His sharp face was covered in dirt and dust. As he pushed himself into a kneeling position, every muscle in his body screamed for him to stop.

"Consider that a declaration of war." Steve was standing over Wyatt, his cigarette was almost gone.

He put his index finger and thumb into his mouth and whistled. The whistle brought the fifteen raiders into action. Fourteen hammers were clicked back, and the guns were aimed at Wyatt and his slavers. The fifteenth raider walked away from the crowd and stood next to Steve.

"Jericho, wouldn't you say that explosion was in the direction of Paradise Falls?" Steve asked the raider-captain.

"I believe it was. You don't think that there was an accident, do you? That would mean that these men are homeless." Responded the raider named Jericho.

Wyatt glanced back at his slavers while the two men talked. He slightly nodded at them and they brought their guns up as well, everyone starred at each other. Steve had stopped talking, and was glancing over at Wyatt.

"What did you do?" Wyatt screamed at them. He was tightly gripping a razor sharp Chinese officer's sword in his right hand, and his face was twisted with rage.

Steve calmly looked at them with no evident sign of concern. He walked over and sat down on the same rock that Wyatt had sat on earlier.

"Did you think that a package of large explosives was just a gift from the raiders to the slavers? We're raiders, we don't give, we take!" Steve yelled with excitement. Wyatt could see that he enjoyed this.

Steve shook his head as he looked upon Wyatt and his company of ten slavers. He then wiggled his arms free of his sheriff duster and shrugged it off his shoulders.

"The temperature out here gets dreadfully high; I wonder what snow would feel like, I imagine myself walking through a giant bowl of ice-cream when I think of snow." Steve muttered to himself as he gazed up at the sky.

Wyatt was about to lose his patience. He put his sword back into its shoulder sheath and looked directly at Steve.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't just kill you all right now." He warned, which sounded more like a growl, angrily towards Steve and his raiders. Steve pushed himself from the rock and looked Wyatt in his eyes; he no longer had the hint of happiness. Wyatt suppressed a shiver from shaking his body.

Steve then reached behind him to his back, and curled his fingers around the grips of two guns. His hands reappeared holding two 45. 1911 handguns. One had thorns carved into its whole body, the other had leaves, and they both now shown silver in the sunlight.

"You see, the young adults from little lamplight hired me to pop a hole in that pathetic camp you call Paradise Falls." Steve explained, he charged his guns and kept them aimed, not on Wyatt, but on the slavers around him.

"Execute them." Steve commanded in an icy tone. The raiders, including Jericho, opened fire on the slavers. The slavers threw stun grenades at them, which provided enough time to take cover and return fire on the raiders. Soon, a fire fight began, the slavers wounded several raiders, and the raiders wounded several slavers.

Wyatt crouched behind one of the many rocks that the slavers were using for cover, several bullets struck it, whizzing away and throwing dirt into the air. He shook the arm of the slaver next to him.

"Cover me, I'm going to call for reinforcements!" He yelled over the gun fire. The slaver nodded and popped out to draw their fire from Wyatt.

He closed his eyes and focused deeply. He heard the ping inside his head that he always heard when using his power. The slaver that was providing Wyatt with cover ran out of ammo in his rifle. He crouched down and replaced the empty magazine with a full one, while he did this he glanced over and looked at Wyatt. He opened his mouth to say something, but never got any words out.

Steve stood behind the slaver as he was reloading, and when the slaver was distracted by Wyatt, he blew his head off with the 1911.

"Remember, take him alive." Steve reminded the raiders. They moved in on Wyatt's crouching form.

Wyatt's eyes shot open, surprising the raiders, and making them stumble back several feet. His eyes were solid white, and Steve looked at them with a curious interest. Steve suddenly remembered what that meant.

"Everyone get ready, this is the fun part." He announced, reloading his 1911's. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

He took several drags on it, blowing smoke from his nose instead of his mouth. There was a faint scratching sound that made the raiders hesitate and look around the valley. One of the raiders suddenly gasped and pointed at the top of the cliff.

Above them on the lip of the valley stood a deathclaw, it glanced down at them and jumped. Landing between Wyatt and the raiders, it threw its arms back and roared at them, as it did so, three more deathclaws landed behind them.

"I knew that this would turn out to be a fun contract!" Steve yelled. He spun around and unloaded both pistols into the first deathclaw. It shrugged the bullets off, and charged the small raider group.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two-**

**A Good Deal**

"I knew that this would turn out to be a fun contract!" Steve yelled. He spun around and unloaded both pistols into the first deathclaw with ease. It shrugged the bullets off, and charged the small raider group.

They stood in a line, firing on the four deathclaws. The first deathclaw reached Steve in a few long strides; it raised its massive arms and brought them down like two sledgehammers.

Steve moved swiftly, dashing and rolling to the side to avoid the killing blow. He then dropped both of the clips and slid a fresh pair in, slamming the slides home.

"Jericho, boil me some eggs!" Steve screamed over to his raider-captain.

Jericho nodded and threw a couple grenades in the air, and into Steve's hands, and then turned to tell the others what to do. Steve turned his head from the other raiders back to the first deathclaw, it immediately charged him. He held one of the grenades in his hand, curled his finger around the small metallic ring, and pulled the pin from it. He waited for the deathclaw to gain a few more yards, and he opened his palm and let the grenade drop to the ground. He dove behind a nearby rock for cover.

The grenade detonated with a loud explosion, and he felt the shockwave ripple through the air. He then popped out from behind the rock and swung his two pistols toward the deathclaw, their sights aimed at the massive beast. It had lost its legs from the explosion, and was attempting to crawl towards him.

He fired several times, fracturing its forehead like a delicate china dish, its movement then became still. Steve stood and watched the last breath exhale from the deathclaw's lungs. Several more gunshots erupted in the valley, and then the weapons became silent. When the last gunshot had echoed through the valley and faded away, Steve regrouped everyone and surveyed the damage.

"What's the word, Jericho?" He asked. He was seated on the ground, with his back against the cliff. He silently watched as his men looted the dead corpses, and took trophies from the fallen deathclaws. Jericho crouched beside him in the shade of the cliff.

"Three men are dead, the rest appear to be uninjured. What should be our next move?" The aging raider asked him. Steve used his knee for support as he stood, then he rounded all of the raiders into a single group.

"Today was a success, good job men." He addressed them all at once.

Several men in the small circle smiled and cheered. Steve waited for their cheering to die down, and continued to speak then.

"Our mission is not complete yet, however, we must now meet with Talon Company in Rivet City and regroup there." He told them. They gathered up any other loot that was available, and set off towards the massive ship.

Steve and Jericho led the group, marching in front of the other raiders as they made their way across the wastes. Jericho repeatedly wiped his head with a small rag that he kept on his belt.

"Can I ask you something, Steve?" Jericho broke the silence that hung over the small party.

Steve reached into his duster pocket and took a gold plated cigar case out. It swung open silently at the click of a button, and he retrieved two cigarettes. He then closed the case, placing it back into his duster.

"Fire your question rifle at me." He answered. He extended a hand over to Jericho, offering a cigarette to him. He accepted it, rested it between his lips, and thanked Steve. They walked a couple more yards before Jericho asked his question. They had now entered an urban area, and proceeded down the cracked street.

"Why are we trying so hard to capture this guy alive? The snots in lamplight want them dead." He asked as they turned left at an intersection.

Steve retrieved his familiar Vault-Tech brand lighter from his right pocket. He clicked it open and used the flame to light his cigarette, and then he lit Jericho's. He flipped it closed again, and looked at the lighter that he held in his palm. He noticed how perfect it still was, not even a scratch on it.

It also had the familiar Vault-Tech logo carved into its front, and the stainless steel metal reflected the sunlight that hung above them as they walked. Jericho was watching him, and waiting for his answer. Steve placed the lighter back into the pocket of his duster.

"Little lamplight wasn't the only client that paid us for this job." He told the other raider. He glanced over at Jericho to wait for his response.

They climbed another small set of stairs, as they continued onwards to Rivet City. Jericho thought for a minute about what Steve had told him. The raider-captain scratched the back of his neck as he thought.

"Well who wants him alive so badly?" Jericho questioned him. Annoyance was very noticeable in his voice. Steve heard it when Jericho spoke. He patted his old friend on the back.

"Don't worry about that, just think of all the caps we're getting from this! Ten thousand from each group, I can't be the only one that thinks that's good for a single job." Steve excitedly told him. They walked down some more stairs and exited the empty settlement.

The sun began to set several hours later. They had crossed several miles and decided to set their camp in an abandoned garage when the light had begun to decline. One of the raiders had started a miniature fire, and was fanning the flame to help it grow. Steve sat on a dirty chair, the fabric that once covered it was peeling off and ripped.

"Get that fire going! Any longer and my earlobes will freeze and fall off!" Steve told the raider.

The man glanced up at Steve, and then fanned the fire quicker. The other raiders were relaxing in their own ways. Several were sitting in a circle on the ground, playing a Pre-War card game known as blackjack. Steve watched with interest as one of the men suddenly slapped his cards down and smiled, obviously having won the game.

Jericho appeared in the room, emerging from a nearby doorway. He walked past their game, pulled a chair next to Steve, and sat down. The fire had grown larger, and was slowly warming the damp room. After a couple minutes of silence had passed between them, Jericho tapped Steve on the shoulder.

"About the second group paying us, its The Enclave right?" Jericho asked the raider-commander that sat next to him. Steve pulled a small end table in front of him, and placed his two pistols on top of it.

"You are correct, old friend." He answered, looking over to his comrade.

He took his two guns apart, carefully setting each component into individual piles on the table. The guns were then cleaned and oiled using an old rag and some Super-Duper Mart brand gun oil.

"Believe it or not, our friend that controls deathclaws was once an Enclave officer." Steve told him, while he shined one of the guns.

Jericho's eyes grew larger for a second. He, once again, scratched the back of his neck while in thought. Steve didn't look over at him, but continued to shine and clean his guns. When he was satisfied of their new condition they were put back together, and replaced in their holsters.

"So what happened? Why would they hire raiders to capture him, they hate us." Jericho mumbled, almost to himself. Steve heard cheering from the card game, and smiled.

"There are two reasons why they hired us." Steve said, turning his head from the card game to Jericho.

"One, they don't want to waste their soldiers trying to capture a dangerous traitor." He said. Jericho grunted and shook his head in response. The Enclave had always been cowards.

"Two, if they tried to capture him, he would simply make their own deathclaw kill its owners. Their best weapon becomes their worst weakness. After slaughtering half of The Enclave's military in that same way, he named himself 'Blackclaw'. I find the name original and snazzy." Steve explained. He took a drink of some bottled water.

They sat for several more minutes and listened to Galaxy News Radio in silence. Once the song had ended, Three Dog announced the news.

"Listen to this kiddos, I've got some fresh news for your wondering minds." The DJ said. Jericho rolled his eyes.

"Recently a Brotherhood survey team was sent out to, you guessed it, survey the land up north by Old Olney." He said. Steve leaned forwards and turned the volume up several clicks.

"Now what they found might surprise you children, it sure as hell surprised Ol' Three Dog. Apparently, the town known for its insanely large number of deathclaws is abandoned." He said. More of the raiders were turning around from their cards to listen.

He continued "So tell me this, how does the largest nesting ground of deathclaws have no deathclaws?" Steve gazed off into space as he thought, and several moments passed before Jericho shook him from his daydream with a question.

"Do you think it's him? Has Blackclaw taken all of the Old Olney deathclaws?" Jericho asked. He nervously scratched his wrist while he waited for Steve's response.

"I don't know, and we won't be sure until we meet up with Talon Company. I had them trail him when he ran during our meeting." Steve said, looking up from his trance over at Jericho. He nodded to himself.

Steve then decided that it was time for everyone to get to sleep. He switched off the radio, and curled up on the cold mattress that lay on the ground for bedding. They had a big day tomorrow.

They woke early the next morning and set off immediately, approaching Rivet City around ten o'clock. The sun was slowly making its way across the sky. They quickly moved behind a pile of rubble and waited for Talon Company.

They didn't wait long. Ten members of Talon Comp came silently up the stairs leading to the train tunnels to meet them. Steve shook hands with their leader, Agony, and coordinated the plan. It was simple, Agony had removed the sniper lookouts on the landing deck, and the bridge operator; meaning the bridge would stay accessible until they could all cross.

Talon Comp would sneak into the ship, undetected, and get into positions where they could easily ambush the guards that would respond when Steve attacked. With no resistance from the guard, Steve was to lock down the market, and slaughter everyone in it. Once there, they would discuss the next move.

Steve readily agreed to the strategy, and waited for the signal from Agony and his mercs. Ten minutes passed before they received the signal, a flare was shot into the atmosphere from the landing deck.

Of course while it was nearly noon, the flare was hard to spot with the sunlight. Luckily, Jericho happened to be glancing up and noticed it.

"Alright men, this is why they call us raiders!" Steve said, running from the rubble, up the ramp, and across the bridge with his raiding party closely following.

He burst through the door with a smooth kick. He noticed that they were on the residence deck, and smiled inwardly to himself.

"What a brilliant way to be noticed." He whispered quietly. He charged his pistols, and approached the metal door of the Living Quarters.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three-**

**Profit is Written in Blood**

"What a brilliant way to be noticed." He whispered quietly. He charged his pistols, and approached the metal door of the Living Quarters.

Above the door, a soft light shone downwards, illuminating the signs beneath it, and basked the door in a calm, yellow glow. Steve didn't bother to knock on the door; he instead walked up to it, raised his right leg, and slammed the heel of his boot on the door's crank, which produced a loud and obnoxious _BAM_. Then, taking a step back, he nodded to Jericho and the other raiders. They raised their weapons on the metal doorway, and waited. Shouting was heard from the opposite side of the door, and within seconds someone came to investigate the disturbance.

The door suddenly opened "What's all this commotion," was angrily yelled by an elderly man. Steve smiled as he watched fear take over the man's body. He snapped a dirt-covered finger at his raiders.

The Talon mercs had strapped themselves to the rafters above the guard barracks, six on the north side and four on the south. Agony had taken the most sudden position so, when Steve initiated his attack, he would have the honor of first kill. His brown-black eyes locked straight ahead as he focused, listening for the first step to begin.

Several automatic bursts of gunfire suddenly rang through the ship's rusty, metal shell. The sound of uniformed boots clanking against metal was heard from the hallway underneath them. Without any signal, Agony dropped silently from his small nook and landed on the back of the first guard to come into sight. His steel blade stuck from the guard's neck, and scarlet blood ran down his uniform and to the floor like a waterfall, Agony's black gloves and camouflage sleeve were also turned dark red with it.

"You bastard!" A second guard charged the merc, a police baton in his tightly gripped hand, and brandished it above his head. Agony violently ripped the knife from the first guard, and thrust it into the chest of the second. The sound of cracking ribs echoed throughout the room as Agony twisted the blade, circular, into the man's chest. The merc then pulled the knife from his chest, and let him fall. He choked on his own blood, and it ran from the corners of his unmoving and silent mouth, and the gunfire below them still continued.

The remaining guards then realized that they were under a major attack, and reached for the weapons that lay on their beds, several feet away. Agony threw his knife into one of the guards, and whistled. Five more mercs dropped from the ceiling, and finished killing the remaining guards. Down the hall, the last guard lay against the metal wall. His hand covered his badly bleeding side, and his breathing was ragged and heavy as he struggled against his broken ribcage to draw in air.

Agony passed the man as he walked down the hall, but stopped a few steps in front of him. The guard drew in a sharp breath as the merc knelt down to him and, to the surprise of his whole squad, spoke to him.

"I suppose that you are wishing for mercy, begging for me to stop killing, screaming it inside your head. No one has heard me speak in three years, so I'll make this short and you had better listen." He removed his glove and ran his bare hand over a shaven scalp. The guard fought the pain and drew in another deep breath, as he tried to calm himself.

Agony studied the frightened man below him. Blood had matted his hair to head, obviously from the ambush, his ribcage was severely broken and one leg was fractured, probably causing him unthinkable amounts of pain. Agony then spoke again "What is your name," he asked the guard.

The man glanced at the hand that slowed his bleeding left side. It was covered in his warm, bright blood. The hand was moved back over the wound "Jameston, they call me Jameston," he told the merc.

"I'm going to ask you one simple question," The mercenary leader told Jameston. He waited a couple seconds before answering, but was forced to draw in breath before he could speak. Agony watched as he gritted his teeth against the pain of his breathing. The guard then looked up at him.

"Hurry up and ask then, not like you bastards will get very far," Jameston softly laughed to himself. He then added after a moment of silent laughter "The Brotherhood will exterminate you like radroaches," his laughter then increased slightly in volume. Agony bowed his head to stare at the floor, a drop of sweat rolled down his scalp and dripped onto the rusty metal.

He sat and thought like that for a few more minutes, the cease in gunfire made him look up, and back to his second in command. His hard and dark eyes starred into the man "Steve has taken the market, get going," he yelled at the merc. The rest of the squad, all except Agony and his top two soldiers, ran down the hall in formation. When they had left the hallway, and the metal door clanked shut behind them, Agony turned back to Jameston.

Jameston's condition was getting quickly worse, his breathing had shortened, and his face had become cold and pale. Agony stood and walked back to his waiting men.

"Loot what's left, then meet me in the market when you're done," He told them.

He glanced back at the body of Jameston, which slumped against the wall, unmoving. He turned and proceeded towards the market. He reached the door and turned the handle to open it, looked back on the devastation the ambush had caused, and coolly smiled to himself. He traversed the ship like he had grown up on it, mastering its winding halls and decks. Within minutes he arrived in the market, pushing the slightly open door aside.

"Agony, come on in! We were just finishing up with it," Steve happily remarked. Agony walked down the stairs and stood beside Steve. The market had been reduced to a bloody, smoking, and all around destroyed mess. Bodies lay along the walls or clumped in piles, depending on if the raiders had moved them, and bullet holes were carved through store stalls and just about everything else that the civilians had used for cover.

Agony examined the scene with a mock smile worn on his face "I'll give you raiders' one thing, looting skill is something that you have in spades," he told Steve, his voice gravelly and deep. The raider-commander smiled at his words. He then led Agony over to a nearby stall that Jericho had made into a makeshift mapping table.

"It looks bleak, but I might know where he last was and where he is going next," Jericho told the men as they approached. Steve took another cigarette from his golden case and placed it in his mouth. He lit it, took comfort in the nicotine, and widely spread his arms across the table to lean over the large map.

Two other raiders drew lines and mapped towns, with a Talon Comp scout telling them directions. The scout pointed to a thumb tack placed near the top of the map "Assuming that his speed was constant and he didn't change his course, that places him in Old Olney last night," he told them. The raider tied a blue string, which began at their meeting valley, around the Old Olney thumb tack.

"Steve, the thing we heard last night. About the deathclaws going missing," Jericho began, but immediately became silent when Steve waved him quiet with his right hand. He tapped the ashes from the cigarette onto the ground, and brought it to his mouth for another drag. He blew the smoke downwards, making it fold in on itself, creating something that resembled an upside down mushroom cloud.

Steve then studied the map for a few more seconds "The red string is where we have travelled, correct?" He asked a raider who held two strings, one red and one green, in his hands. The man looked up to acknowledge his commander, and then tied both the red and green strings onto another thumb tack marked "Rivet City".

The raider then returned his gaze on Steve, nodding to him "Yes, sir. We're the red string, Blackclaw is blue, and Talon Comp is green, on the map," he told Steve. The raider then picked up the strings again, and continued to place them where the scout told him. Agony turned from his leaning position against a stall, and looked at Steve.

"We may know where he is," He simply told the raider. Steve turned to look at Agony's face, which was battle beaten, that much was for sure. Scars and old reminders of his battles were etched, like writing in a book, all over his shaven head. The most noticeable being the large, thin scar that ran from the crown of his scalp to his cheek bone, angled sideways.

Steve looked upon the man for a moment "We know that he travelled to Old Olney, that much I can almost guarantee, but I have no clue where he would choose to run off too next," He told the other commander. The cigarette was burning low and close to its end, Steve noticed this and flicked the small, used cigarette to the side. The air inside the boat was heated more than usual that day, on account of the high humidity.

The mercenary pursed his lips in silent thought, and nodded to himself after a moment. Steve wiped his forehead with a white cloth, attempting to stay cool. Agony pushed himself from the stall and approached the map. The scout looked over to him, something resembling a question drawn across his face, as if he was unsure whether to divulge information or not. The mercenary commander nodded to him "Go ahead, Johnston," he told the young scout, maybe only in his twenties.

Johnston stepped forward and pointed to the Old Olney thumb tack "The tracking team that was sent to keep tabs on your target has not reported to us in several hours. They did, however, report in last near the abandoned town of Old Olney," he told them, tapping his finger on the top of the tack.

"We have had no further contact with them since then, so I propose that is where he is," The scout finished. Steve silently nodded to himself, and Agony just watched the presentation. Steve glanced at Jericho, who was still looking over the map, approached him, and placed a gloved hand onto his shoulder.

"Have the men ready to mobilize in three hours, we leave as soon as I give the word," He gave Jericho the order.

Within the set time of three hours they were on the flight deck. The raiders had packed all the valuable loot they could carry on their backs, and waited for Steve to give the order to leave. Their commander was seated on a rusty metal chair, concentrating on the map of directions on the small wooden table in front of him.

Jericho was about six feet away from Steve, leaning against the radio tower. He was trying to reach Evergreen Mills to update them on the mission's status. His hand clicked the nob, changing the signal the radio broadcasted on, left to right and back again. He couldn't find the raiders signal on any known frequencies. The old raider sighed and attempted to remove the pain from his back by stretching it. He eventually gave up on trying to ease his back pain, and went back to the radio.

In a last effort attempt to contact Evergreen, Jericho clicked the small nob back to the normal frequency that all the camps used to contact the raiders basecamp. As soon as the nob clicked onto the channel, there was an immediate reaction. The small radio suddenly flared to life, broadcasting someone's voice across the radio waves.

"Hello, hello? This is raider cam- _*static*_ -treach, calling all available units. We need immediate assistance, deathclaws are at- _*static*_ -the camp. Some man showed up right before the attack, please send help! I don't know how much long-" The transmission was cut off by the operator screaming, and then static flooded the device. It crackled back into operation a few seconds later. Jericho and Steve both looked back at it, expecting someone to explain what had happened. In place of a raider's voice, however, they only heard the deep-throated roar of a deathclaw.

Jericho covered his face in his hands "You have to be kidding me this time," he angrily grunted. Steve watched the radio for several more minutes, as if the signal would be found again. It wasn't. Steve then informed Talon Comp that they had pressing business to attend to, and couldn't stay any longer. Agony understood, and told him that he and his squad could hold down the fort.

They then set off from the ship, but once they stepped off the bridge platform, Jericho stopped Steve. Jericho thought that resource camp Outreach was where Blackclaw was located. Steve considered the possibility, and then began leading everyone towards the camp. The air was already beginning to chill, in preparation for the darkness of night to come over them. It may have been raw nerves, but Jericho was sure that he heard the screaming-roar of a deathclaw, off in the distant hills, somewhere.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four-**

**Faded Memories**

* * *

The Chinese sword _clumped _back into the ground, but was yanked out again by the strong hands that had put it there. Wyatt sat in raider resource camp Outreach and kept his eyes locked down. The camp was destroyed: bodies lay in random, mismatched places, and blood was drawn across the walls of nearby yellowish brick-buildings. The same buildings that he had the deathclaws execute the surviving raiders in front of. The sword plunged into the dry ground again.

He had made sure that others received the frantic radio call when the camp was under attack and when he decided that the commander had been informed, the raider making the call was sliced in half by a waiting deathclaw. _Clump_, came the sound from the sword as it cut into the soil. He pulled it out and then threw it back in, but as the sword struck the ground this time, something fell from his coat pocket.

It was a necklace. Small and made of wood, the necklace was shaped as a diamond. Wyatt knelt down and picked it up from the loose dirt. Curling his fingers around its small form, he lifted it by the string, and brushed the sandy-dirt from it.

"How did you fall out of my coat," He asked the small diamond "I can't lose you, now can I?"

Bowing his head to accept the necklace, he slipped it around his neck. The light oak wood that it was carved from gave him comfort. He took a deep breath into his lungs, and let it out again as he relaxed. The sword cut into the ground a final time, he retrieved it, and then began to prepare the ambush.

While he sat, concealed by a small cave that overlooked the camp, he began to run his fingers over the small diamond around his neck. The cave was concealed by the shadows of the higher rocks on the mountain, which gave him a cool and relaxing temperature. It would also be some time before any raiders would show up, even with Steve uniting them as one, merciless, unit they still took time to get organized. _Stupid flea-bitten mongrels, _he thought to himself. His anger towards raiders could be understood to anyone who read his file, but his anger towards The Enclave couldn't be understood by anyone, no matter how they read his file.

His thumb grazed over the small diamond again as he began to get lost in his memories. When he looks at the necklace, he immediately recalls his time in The Enclave military with his wife, Kathrine. They were happy, once. Even though they were forbidden to have any kind of romantic relationship while under President Eden's orders, they still secretly saw each other. After a year of their romance, Wyatt couldn't take the secrecy anymore. So he approached the President one day, and told him "Tesla-Captain White and I have been seeing one another for about 12 months. With your permission, I would like to ask for a marriage or for an honorable discharge if you cannot allow us to be together."

The President was silent for a moment, and then responded to him "My dear boy, I would love to have the wedding." Wyatt was caught off guard for several seconds, but quickly closed his mouth and tried not to look stunned. He didn't question his superior, and thanked him before he ran to Kathrine's room to tell her the news. The wedding was held on the fourteenth and had every off-duty trooper in attendance. Then they were happy, until the President began the experiments. He could still remember her soft red-hair, and how she always smelt of honey. His thumb rubbed the diamond's wooden surface one final time. His eyes shot forwards, snapping his memory away from him.

From his vantage point he could look down onto the camp's entrance. There was a four raider response team entering the gate, quietly, but relaxed and un-prepared. A sly grin slowly crept across his face, revealing straight, white teeth. Checking that his sword was secured against his back, he let himself fall to the rocky ground, his feet making a loud crunching sound as he landed and a cloud of dust erupted from the dry rocks under his feet. He then set off at a sprint, his trench coat throwing black waves behind him.

The experiments that the enclave had performed on him had given Wyatt the ability to control deathclaws using only his thoughts. What the President hadn't accounted for in his calculations was that Wyatt would also gain side-effects from the implants. One of which was mind-numbing speed, he could currently only use it in short, controlled bursts. The four raiders casually walked into the camp, their guns hung across their shoulders, their backs, and on their hips. They never saw him coming.

"Look, I told ya that he wouldn't stay here," One of the raiders complained over his shoulder to the others.

His gun was rested across his shoulders. As they walked down the dirt road of the camp, he couldn't help but shudder, even a raider couldn't perform the amount of damage Blackclaw had done to this camp. One of the squad, a short young man, pointed to his left and yelled to the others. They all turned their heads and saw a black trench-coated form leaning against a rusty, poorly-built shed that was meant to hold ammo. The four raiders attempted to wrestle their guns into aiming positions, which was made difficult by the sheer nervousness that they felt when looking at the man.

They eventually got their guns into the ready position, all sights trained on the lone black-clad figure. He simply watched them, not even bothering to shift his weight from one foot to the other. He noticed that every raider showed one form of doubt or another about shooting him. The sly smile once again stretched his thin-lips back, showing straight teeth.

"If you're going to shoot me, I would _love _to see you try, but if not then you're wasting my time," He told them in his calculating voice. Each word that left his mouth struck doubt onto their plan, making each one more and more nervous.

"I-I come from Ev-Evergreen Mills, and my name is Thame," The raider leading them said, tripping over his own words that left his mouth. He looked to his squad for support, found his bravery, and continued "You are now coming with us back to Evergreen; the boss will pay us big time for capturing you." Wyatt continued to stare at the man, his face drawn with a sarcastically-questionable look. He pursed his lips together and responded "And if I refuse to go with you," he said in a cool tone. All color drained from Thame's face when he heard this, and the victorious smile faded away from his mouth.

Wyatt pushed himself off of the metal shed he had been using for support. Four guns hesitantly thrust towards him in a wood be threat. The guns shook, however, and their raider handlers had to resist dropping them and running in the opposite direction. Suddenly, where the black-clad man had been standing, there was nothing, just a dust cloud thrown up by the wind. Next, there was the sound of rushing air from behind them. They slowly turned, with horror, to see a black trench coated man, holding a gleaming razor-sharp sword.

The Ex-Enclave Officer made short work of the small party, hacking and slashing them apart, painting the nearby landscape a dark crimson color. Once the sword stopped, and the last body had fallen into the dust, Wyatt stepped out of his battle stance. Approaching one of the raiders, he knelt down and picked his body of supplies, one of which was a radio. Wyatt's smile, once again, drew across his face as he placed, and patted the radio inside his coat pocket.

"Nice job, mate! Really, I couldn't have done better myself," A Scottish accent rang out to him from across the camp.

Wyatt jumped as he was startled by the sudden voice. He stood and began to scan what remained of the camp, searching for the voice's origin. After a few minutes his eyes landed on two cages near the mess hall, or what used to be the mess hall.

"What the hell..." He mumbled to himself, setting off at a dead-sprint towards the cages.

"It's about time! How long does it take someone to be rescued in this pit," The Scottish voice boomed from inside one of the two cages as Wyatt came sprinting up.

The voice belonged to a skinny man who was possibly in his fifties. He wore loose-fitting, yellow and white clothes that offered no protection against any weapon, and they reminded Wyatt of robes that pre-war monks would wear. While his head was shaven there was a decent amount of hair on his face, creating a goatee of brown and white hairs.

"Brother please, he hasn't come to rescue us," This time an Irish accent broke into the conversation.

The renegade's eyes shifted onto the second cage, which held a slightly younger, better-built man, possibly forty five years of age. Unlike his brother, he was wearing armor that was useful in the wastes. Brown-leather protected his body and several metal plates were tied to him with straps connected to his armor. Wyatt studied the armor with strange fascination, looking it up and down with his clever blue eyes.

"I truly must apologize for Michael here, his manners need work," The younger man told Wyatt, running his fingers through his short-cut hair.

Michael huffed to himself, sitting cross-legged in the cage. Wyatt watched him for several seconds, and then turned back to the second man. The younger man held inside the metal frame smiled to him, his teeth as straight and white as Wyatt's were.

He extended his hand through one of the squares in the metal, offering it to the renegade "Happy to meet you. My name is Jacob, but everyone just calls me Razor." Wyatt shook his strong hand through the cage. Once their hands had parted and Jacob's was drawn back to his body, he nodded, slightly, to the first cage.

"And this is Michael, my brother," He introduced him "I don't mean to sound rude, but could you let us out of these things?" Wyatt starred at him while he took the question into consideration.

The lever that released the cage's locks was several yards away from them. Wyatt glanced over to it self-consciously, and then crossed his arms.

"Why should I? What use would freeing you give me," He questioned his captive audience.

Jacob looked up to the renegade, his green eyes sparkling "Because I have info on Steve, and what his plans are."

Wyatt's eyebrows rose slightly at this turn of events. It didn't take long for him to make his decision. He needed information on his enemy more than anything. Otherwise he would have to keep attacking random raider camps. After another moment of consideration, he nodded, walked over to the wooden lever, and yanked against it with his strong arms. It soon gave way, clicking out of the locking position and freeing the two captives.

"Thank you Wyatt, you don't know how much we appreciate this," Said Jacob.

He pushed himself from the dusty-ground and stood straight. The cage's door was pushed open with his hand, and he stepped free of its metal frame. Michael followed his brother's example and stepped out of his cage. As Michael stretched his sore muscles, Jacob approached Wyatt, smiling.

"Can I ask you a favor," He questioned the renegade.

Wyatt nodded, not paying full attention to the other man. His hand was stroking the diamond, again.

"We could travel with you, help you fight the raiders," Jacob hesitantly offered.

A thin smile crept across Wyatt's face. He thought it would be a great idea. After all, he needed all the help he could get, and these two obviously had combat experience.

"Why not, I could use the company," He said, taking another drink from the Nuka-Cola flask.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five-**

**New Bonds Begin to Form**

The campfire was slowly gaining strength, flaring from a small spark into a blazing orange flame. The three men sat around it, warming their hands and cooking the evening meal of dog meat. Michael starred into the fire as he watched the flames dance to and fro in harmony. Meanwhile, on the other side of the fire, Wyatt and Jacob were sitting on a flat rock, talking to each other as they waited for the meat to be cooked into a dry steak.

"It's a beauty, just like I told you," Jacob beamed with pride as Wyatt held the rifle in his hands.

He turned the black frame back and forth, using the fire's light to examine it. The weapon was fairly regular: its black stock and barrel were cool to the touch. Jacob must have taken care of it all the time he owned it. The metal of the chamber and mag were also charcoal black. The whole gun smelt strongly of oil.

"It is quite beautiful," Wyatt commented his voice far away as he marveled the rifle.

He handed the gun back to Jacob, who carefully accepted it and slung it onto his back. Wyatt looked over the flames to Michael, who hadn't moved since they made camp.

"Are you ok," He asked Michael.

The elder man tore his eyes from the flames to look at Wyatt. His face was traced with laughing lines, and wrinkles had long ago formed on him.

"Yes, yes I'm fine, thank you for asking," Was the quite reply.

Michael's eyes were glazed and his face drooped in exhaustion. He returned his vision to the fire, and kept it there.

"How long did they keep you in those cages before I set you free," Wyatt asked Jacob, who was running a white stained rag over the stock of his gun.

Jacob looked up from the rifle to Wyatt, and replied: "Only about five days, with my special operation training I can go for much longer than that without food or water. Michael used to be in an order of monks, so he can also go without sustenance for long periods of time."

Wyatt's eyebrows rose when his companion ended the sentence. Jacob returned to his gun, and Wyatt looked back at Michael with a questioning expression worn on his face. The monk's eyes were, once again, locked onto the fire as his mind drifted somewhere else entirely. Wyatt then decided to leave the man be, and examined the meat cooking on the fire with his sky-blue eyes. It was nearly done, and needed a small amount of pepper to be worth eating. He retrieved his backpack from behind the rock he sat on, and began to rummage through it as he hunted for the condiment.

His hand soon reappeared holding several small packages, they all had "pepper" scrawled across the paper in black lettering. The renegade then reached down and skewered a piece of brown meat with a metal rod, tore a package open with his teeth, and emptied the contents onto his dinner.

"Is it time to eat already," Jacob asked with a voice of delight.

Wyatt nodded to him, bringing his food close so he could examine it. When he decided that it followed his picky style of eating, he took a large bite of the meat. Michael and Jacob were also stabbing into their portions of meat as they prepared to eat. Wyatt took the remaining two packets of pepper from their spot on the rock, and tossed them to the other two men. They gratefully sprinkled the seasoning over the meat, and began to devour it themselves.

"This is the first food we've had in three days," Jacob excitedly said, taking another bite of the small portion of meat.

Wyatt smiled to himself. Releasing them from their cages was turning out to be a good idea. He was beginning to like these two brothers, as it had been ages since he had actual friends. They soon finished off the meat, grateful to have a warm meal in their stomachs, and laid back in front of the fire to relax. Curling his fingers around the cool metal of the sword hilt, Wyatt pulled it free from the sheath, producing a metallic sound from the weapon. He then took hold of a rag that hung from his bag and began to wipe the dirt and blood from the blade.

"I would like to know something, if you won't mind of course," Jacob said, turning his head to look at Wyatt "You sure seemed lucky coming here, right after a deathclaw attack on that camp."

Wyatt raised an eyebrow "Yes, what is your point about it?"

Michael suddenly jumped up from his position on the ground "Quickly, with the power of Chook I shall dispatch thee!"

The man threw his clenched fist straight out behind him, appearing to lunge at the darkness. The hand stopped in mid-air and the sound of skin colliding with skin sounded out, as he came into contact with something. Several seconds passed and nothing happened, and the other two renegades exchanged confused glances with one another. Then, sparking into visibility in the dust, laid a man. The left side of his face was crushed and caved inside his skull, the features were now destroyed, but his armor remained intact. It was clear that he was a raider.

"Impressive," was all Wyatt said and added "He must have been using a Stealth Boy to get the drop on us." Michael sat back down on the rock and leaned back, closing his eyes once more.

"Now, I have to warn you before I go any further. I do enjoy your company, but if you can't accept my situation, then our journey will end here," Wyatt said, turning back to Jacob. The other man could pick up on the faintest hint of ice hidden beneath the words, which sent a shiver up his spine. He slowly nodded, accepting the warning. Wyatt nodded back, and closed his eyes. He sat, motionless, for several minutes while he concentrated.

"The reapers are coming," Michael muttered from his position in front of the fire.

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**A/N: Man, I haven't updated this story in a very long time! If you're still reading, or paying attention to this, then I must say that I am very much thankful. You guys keep me going with the support and opinions left in your reviews. Please leave me more, I love hearing from my readers.**

**-W. Shepard**


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